


Will Wonders Never Cease

by Never-complete (SweetHarty)



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-17
Updated: 2017-08-16
Packaged: 2018-12-16 09:00:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11825412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetHarty/pseuds/Never-complete





	Will Wonders Never Cease

Cataline curled her fingers deeper into her palm, her toes also curling in an attempt to relieve the pins and needles, her one good eye taking in the freshly polished silver clawfoot, a small smile gracing her slightly twisted lips.

Cataline reached up to scratch at one of the vicious claw marks, the scab catching her nail and tugging a bit. The smile fell and Cataline pulled herself up, making her way to the sink, where she rinsed her hands and scrubbed under her nails.

“Cataline, es que usted?” Ms. Moneypenny called from the lavatory connecting to the bedroom, and Cataline called an affirmation, drying her hands on her apron and walking out of the bathing room.

“Sí, Señorita Moneypenny. _ What can I do for you _ ?” While Cataline spoke a variety of different languages, including Ms. Moneypenny’s native English, she held a certain bit of power over what language she would speak when her employer didn’t know of her education.

“ _ In two weeks I am going to be having some guests staying in my house for a number of months, and I had hoped to speak with you about perhaps taking care of them and the house until I return.” _ Ms. Moneypenny was a pretty woman, with warm bronze color skin and a sharp, rare smile.

“ _ Anything Señorita, what can I do?”  _ Cataline asked, bustling about and tidying the already spotless room.

_ “They will both be very private, but if you could provide them with your usual service, perhaps two meals, and some medical care that should be fine; other than that-if they request it, give it to them.” _

Cataline took this information in stride, a bit apprehensive as to the nature of these people, but nodded and murmured her assent.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Two weeks passed quickly for Cataline, her work constant and uniform in a way that bored her near to tears, but kept her body too busy to let her mind stay awake as it was wont to do.

The night before Ms. Moneypenny had called to inform Cataline that the two gentlemen were coming in from England that morning at six AM and had rather hastily requested Cataline pick them up from the small airway, so with little fuss Cataline had woken early and pulled onto the lane of poorly maintained bitumen designated as the ‘tarmac’ at five in the morning.

At almost half past six Cataline began to debate if she was in the right place, but as she debated piling herself into Ms. Moneypenny’s Cadillac, a rattle started from the sky and an old model plane came into view.

Cataline watched people leave the plane for a few moments before she retrieved the three travel mugs of coffee she had grabbed on her way from home. Almost on cue, two rather run down looking fellows stepped down the plane’s steps, a tall wiry young man with a pale green face, glasses and squinted eyes, and a middle aged man with numerous bruises on his face and eyes so blue that she entertained the idea that they were white from the long distance.

She approached the two slowly, her every step deliberate as they painstakingly reached the bottom of the stairs, and when they looked up at her in suspicion she offered the coffee mugs the same way Ms. Moneypenny had told her to: cradled on her open palms - a four cup tray, three paper cups, with the single open spot facing her.

“Ah, our escort.” The older man said in a deep voice that purred along Cataline’s senses. “Well, Ms. Munoz, I am  Richard Sterling, and this is Tony Jones.”

Cataline said nothing, not actually sure what to do with this false information, and turned to grab the luggage from the attendant who was roughly handling them.

“Bon-Richard, she isn’t english, we-” The one with the greenish face began to quietly grumble to the older one, and Cataline set to shooing the bag attendant; a few sharp words in Castellano to send him away, Cataline pulled the luggage cart towards the Cadillac, ushering the two Englishmen with hand gestures to get into the cab of the car while she secured their five bags into the boot of the vehicle.

Cataline sighed from behind the car, these two men weren’t exactly what she was expecting, but she would deal, Ms. Moneypenny had told Cataline that she would be getting nearly double her usual salary for dealing with the ‘difficult characters’ that had been foisted on her, but Cataline didn’t know if it was going to be worth it; Cataline took a fortifying breath of early morning air, tasted the sea and aviation fuel on her palate, and exhaled-she could do this.

They take a short and easy boat ride from the coast of Venezuela, and arrive at Tortuga Aullido isle, the howling turtle with forty five minutes until supper is due from the oven. Cataline tells the two men such with a handy application that allows her to speak in one language and translate it immediately; they don’t appear to be impressed, but Cataline considers it a lifesaver. She doesn’t want to speak one word to these men.

The app allows Cataline to tell them where their room is, and that she will bring their luggage up ‘shortly.’

The app fails in translating that, and instead she winds up saying that they luggage will fastly get to their room.

They hesitate at the translation, and Cataline does her best to look confused at their odd expressions.

“Que? All right?” She says in roughly accented english. And watches them nod slowly.

Turning from the room at large, she can’t help the soft smile that quirks her lips, and raises her hand to cover her mouth and cough delicately into the palm of her hand. It’s a flimsy attempt to cover her laugh, but the men are halfway up the stairs and she is in the doorway-safe, she thinks.

 

Their luggage makes it to their room, and she settles it at the end of the large four poster bed. Curiosity gets the better of her and with an innocent thought: she takes a peek at the cracked bathroom door. She vaguely hears the sound of the shower running even as she glimpses pale skin and dark hair pass the crack to enter the glass shower and join the older man, who she can tell needs a medical kit from the blood running down his body.

She retrieves the kit from her room, warily entering the gentlemen's room with a knock and a warning call of, “llegando.”

“Yes, SÍ.” There were sounds of clothing shuffling and some soft curses, but Cataline kept her eyes averted from the room and held the first aide kit out in front of her. “Para Señor Sterling.”

“Oh, yes, please do come in.” The slim man ushered her in and she lifted her eyes to flash a short smile at him, moving to vanity chair and pulling it out in an attempt to make “Señor Sterling” sit down.

“Siéntate.” She motioned emphatically to the the chair and watched the blonde laugh even as he stiffened. “Por favor, Señor.” She opened and placed the box on the vanity beside her phone, and pulled up he application again. “Medico.” She said clearly to the machinery, and read the word on screen aloud. “Dacter. Help.”  She plead as she pulled out a box of plasters and waved them at his still oozing wounds.

Eventually Cataline has the older and incredibly fit man sitting in the finely upholstered chair. She doctored his finely boned face first, placing two butterfly bandages above his temple to hold together a nasty looking gash that, despite not longer bleeding, still looked puffy. She moved on to his hands and arms after that, and dabbed neosporin onto her finger to transfer it to his cuts. His arms were relatively untouched, but his hands held a few splits along his knuckles that suggested he was a brawler; on one substantial knife wound Cataline found herself enraged, scolding him in four different languages, while picking poorly managed stitches from bunched up skin.

“ _ If you could speak any language other than english this would be much easier! _ “ Cataline exclaimed once, while she sewed up the slice. “ _ You almost killed yourself, if you do this to-Ugh!”  _  She cut herself off, taking deep breaths, and moved on from the now taken care of injury. To take care of his torso, she tried to stand in front of him and bend down to reach the numerous wounds upon his body, but it blocked her lighting and made him look like a cornered animal, so with a resigned huff she slid down into a kneeling position, lightly resting her arms on his thighs to comfortably reach the three half-healed bullet wounds on his stomach.  _ “You are so lucky you’re hurt, if not, I’d have killed you then-”  _ She ended that thought before it began, shaking her head to rid herself of that terrible thought.

“Legs?” Sterling asked, with a quirked brow, and Cataline felt her face turn red. These thoughts were getting away from her, if she wasn’t careful they’d find out about it in less time than Moneypenny had been trying to.

Cataline checked his legs, feeling one ankle for possible sprain, but it was only slightly swollen and she moved on.

She got distracted by a particular wound just above his knee, and began to tear up at the thought of his imagined torture.

“Jesus, Richard, what did you do?” The thin gentleman was at her side in an instant, dark hair falling in his face as he produced a handkerchief and blotted at her tears.

“Nothing. She got to the one Silva so hopefully applied at my -” They seemed to come to a realization and the slim one gave her an awkward hug while Sterling escaped to change out of his towel and put real clothes on.

  
Cataline recovered from her crying jag and went to fetch dinner with an embarrassed blush staining her freckled cheeks.  _ You’ll never recover from this. _


End file.
